


Things That Never Happened: Things Remembered

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [55]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s03e08 Twilight, Fish out of Water, Imprinting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of the Mal universe. Jon wakes up one morning to find that things have changed a great deal. Being unable to form new long-term memories will do that to you. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Never Happened: Things Remembered

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Jon opened his eyes, feeling a little stiffer than usual. He winced as he sat up in bed, making a mental note to spend more time at the gym. Or maybe to find someone on board to give him a backrub before he went to sleep.

After a moment of blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Jon noticed that his cabin looked... different somehow. The pictures were arranged differently on the shelves, and there were more of them. A couple of drawings were affixed to the walls, drawings that looked to have been made by a child. And the desk was far messier than Jon would have left it.

Immediately Jon was suspicious. This was the Expanse, after all, and between spatial anomalies and Xindi plots, he wasn't going to let anything, no matter how innocuous it seemed on the surface, go uninvestigated.

He reached for the comm button on the wall but froze when he saw the note attached to it—a real paper note, in what appeared to be his own handwriting. Which he didn't remember writing. " _Don't call the Bridge_ ," the note read. " _Please see data pad_." This was followed with an arrow pointing down.

Jon glanced down and saw the data pad he'd overlooked propped up on the beside shelf. There was a message on the screen. " _Dear Jon, Don't freak if the room looks different. I promise we'll explain it. It's not a Xindi plot. Love, Trip. P.S. Don't call the Bridge_."

There were so many bizarre comments in the message that Jon couldn't even begin to process them all. Although the one that stood out the most was how Trip had signed it... Since when had his Chief Engineer, in all their years of friendship, signed a message "love"? Jon shook his head and set the data pad aside, sorely tempted to call the Bridge anyway. _Something_ strange was going on around here—if this was just a prank by Trip, some kind of elaborate practical joke, he was going have the man cleaning access tubes for a week. They were on a mission—there was no time for this kind of nonsense.

The sound of a door sliding open caught Jon's attention and his head snapped up—but the door to the hall was unchanged. And the door to the bathroom didn't appear to have moved, either. "Morning, Uncle Jon," said a youthful voice behind him, and Jon nearly hit the ceiling.

He spun around, staring at the child who had materialized on the far side of the bed. No, not materialized—he'd likely come in through the door that had mysteriously appeared in what used to be a solid wall. The boy looked to be eight or nine, Jon would guess, apparently human, with dark hair and oddly familiar eyes.

"Who are you?" Jon asked, trying not to sound too harsh. In case somehow, it _was_ just a child, and not a shapeshifting alien intruder.

"I'm Charlie," the boy replied easily. He crossed to the desk and climbed up into the chair easily, pecking at the computer. "You didn't call the Bridge, did you?" he suddenly said over his shoulder, giving Jon a disapproving look.

"No." Not yet. But he was edging towards the comm box.

"Good," Charlie agreed. "T'Pol gets annoyed when you do that."

"T'Pol?" Jon repeatedly dumbly.

"Oh, you remember T'Pol," Charlie insisted. Jon noticed he had an accent of some kind... it sounded almost British. He was reminded of the sentient alien slug from the rogue planet, who could pull an image from his mind to project instead of "her" true form... although he couldn't remember knowing any small English boys. Or even really reading about them.

"Where's Trip?" Jon tried reasonably.

"Engineering," Charlie shrugged. He left the computer and climbed onto the bed Jon had been lying in, starting to jump on it unself-consciously. "Mal will be back with breakfast in a minute, if you're wondering," he added, his hair flopping with each bounce. "He can explain everything."

"Explain what?" Jon probed, slightly seasick from watching him.

"I'm not really allowed to explain it," Charlie replied, unconcerned. "I might get something wrong."

At that moment the door to the hall slid open, admitting Mal with a tray full of food. The first thing he did was glare at Charlie, who had stopped jumping and was blinking back innocently. "Get off the bed," Mal ordered him. "You know better than that."

Reluctantly Charlie climbed down. "Mal, what's going on? Where's Trip?" Jon demanded.

"Mmm, I'll explain everything in just a minute, sir," Mal assured him. "Here, take your breakfast," he added to Charlie, handing the boy a plate and a glass. "Although you don't deserve it." Charlie rolled his eyes. "Go into the other room while I talk to Jon. I mean it, go," he repeated when Charlie started to whine. Sulkily the boy obeyed. "Sorry, sir," Mal smiled apologetically, setting the rest of the food down on the desk. "You didn't give him any chocolate, did you?"

"What? No," Jon replied, still looking at the door that had magically appeared in his wall.

"Sometimes he convinces you to give him chocolate for breakfast," Mal explained with some exasperation. Although 'explained' was probably putting it a bit strongly. "Here's some coffee, sir, and your eggs, just like you like them."

Mal patted the chair before the desk, giving Jon an encouraging look. His rumbling stomach convinced him to at least sit down, although he paused with the fork in hand. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mal. But what if it wasn't really Mal? Jon glanced up at the hovering man, searching his face. "You look older," he commented suddenly, noticing wrinkles and a few streaks of grey that he hadn't before.

"How lovely, thanks for letting me know," Mal replied sarcastically. Well, it _sounded_ like Mal, anyway. "Usually what we do," he added more carefully, "is you feed me a bite of the eggs, to make sure they aren't poisoned."

Usually? Jon was getting a little impatient for answers here. "Fine. Here." He scooped up some of the eggs, from the middle of the plate, and fed it to Mal.

"Mmmm, delicious," Mal declared, settling onto the floor with his own breakfast. "Go on, have something to eat," he encouraged.

Jon decided survival was the first order of business and started to eat. "You going to explain all this to me now?" he persisted.

"Well, Trip does it better," Mal assured him, "but I've got a decent version. Alright, so what's the last thing you remember?"

Jon blinked. "We were experiencing some anomalies," he began slowly. "On the Bridge. In the Armory. Nothing serious. I had spaghetti and cherry cheesecake for lunch..." Jon frowned, searching his mind. He didn't remember anything after lunch. He didn't remember going to bed the night before. Not to mention all the other changes around the cabin occurring. "What happened?" he demanded of Mal more urgently. "Is anyone hurt? How much damage did they do?"

"All the damage has been repaired," Mal told him. "And there was only one person seriously injured."

"Who?"

"The Captain."

Jon stared down at the dark-haired man, who stared back up at him unblinking. "What?"

"You were just finishing lunch," Mal related, with the air of one telling a well-known story. "The ship was hit by an anomaly. You ran out into the hall. One of the EPS conduits blew and you were thrown back against the bulkhead."

"I don't remember that," Jon admitted slowly.

Mal gave him a look that could be kindly described as, 'no s—t.' "You suffered brain damage, from hitting your head," he went on. "Phlox did everything he could—he saved your life. You can walk and talk, dress yourself, feed yourself..."

Jon sensed there was something else coming. "But?"

"You can't form new long-term memories." Jon tried to sort it out in his mind. "Your memory lasts about eighteen hours, we've discovered. After that—nothing. You're back to spaghetti and cherry cheesecake."

Jon was quiet for a long moment. "But what about the mission?"

"The mission was over a year ago, Jon," Mal informed him. "About six months after your accident, three of the Xindi subspecies overthrew the reptilians and insectoids and negotiated a peace treaty with Earth. With a little help from _Enterprise_ ," he added proudly.

"Wait—it's been... eighteen months since..." Jon sagged back in his chair. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he turned on Mal again. "We pulled the same trick on Degra—convinced him that the war was over, Earth had been destroyed, and he and I had just escaped from prison together."

Mal didn't seem surprised by this veiled accusation. "Yes, well, _that_ little bit of theatricality rather pales in comparison to the scale of _this_ , don't you think?" he commented flippantly. "We'll go down to Engineering and see Trip, if you like. You can see the whole ship."

"Yes, let's do that," Jon agreed, far from comforted.

"Fine." Mal stood—also a bit stiffly, Jon observed—and set his empty plate on the desk. Instead of heading for the door to the hall, however, he went to the new door and opened it. "Charlie," he summoned. "Come on, we're going to Engineering."

Dutifully the boy appeared in the main cabin again. Through the open door Jon could just spy what looked like a second room, complete with a bed and desk. "That's our room," Mal said, answering his unexpressed question. He ruffled Charlie's dark hair and smiled when the boy scowled and tried to straighten it.

The expression of distaste on the boy's face was familiar and suddenly Jon knew where he'd seen it before. "Charlie's your son," he guessed, surprised.

"Excellent deduction," Mal complimented him. "Come on, let's go."

"But how is that possible?" Jon persisted as they stepped out into the hall. "Who's his mother?"

"Don't know," Mal shrugged, without concern. "They set it up through an agency. On Viridia. That's how they do things there. Not a lot of mother-father interaction."

"I'm going to be Uncle Trip's _ragnish_ when I'm older," Charlie told Jon enthusiastically, skipping ahead of them then scampering back.

"Only if you're good and stop jumping on beds," Mal warned him. Charlie failed to take the threat seriously.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for Mal. Thanks for reading!


End file.
